Take A Bow
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Missing scene from "Precious Cargo". Archer and T'Pol plot their "good cop, bad cop" scheme. A/T'P if you squint.


Take A Bow

By Laura Schiller

Based on _Star Trek: Enterprise_

Copyright: Paramount

Jonathan Archer clenched his teeth in silent frustration as he walked away from the Brig. A smug-looking Retellian named Plinn sat there with his ankles crossed, refusing to say a word about his missing partner, the princess they'd kidnapped, or Trip, who had gone missing along with said princess. For all Jon knew, they could have vanished down a black hole – his Chief Engineer, who was also his best friend, and an alien diplomat whose disappearance could cause a crisis of interplanetary proportions. All because that damned pirate refused to give them their ship's warp frequency.

It was enough to make even the most modern and civilized of captains long for the days of thumbscrews and the rack.

 _Wait a minute …_

He came to a sudden stop in the hallway. T'Pol, following three steps behind, almost bumped into him.

"I have an idea," he said. "Ever hear of 'good cop, bad cop'?"

"The interrogation technique?"

"Exactly."

"You mean to extract the Retellians' warp frequency with a ploy obtained from Commander Tucker's film collection?"

T'Pol's disdainfully raised eyebrow didn't faze him.

"It'll work. These guys are cowards – that much is obvious. Why else keep their victim in a stasis pod so she'd never see their faces? And they practically licked Trip's boots when they thought he could help them. We won't need to lay a finger on Plinn to intimidate him. Suggestions will be enough."

T'Pol tilted her head, seeming to consider the idea.

"He doesn't know anything about Earth besides what we told him," Jon continued, thinking out loud. "For all he knows, we could be a … a brutal police state. Something straight out of George Orwell. I could put him through a kangaroo court scene – you know, 'we've already reviewed all the evidence, this is nothing but a formality' … " He could feel a fierce grin tugging at his lips as he imagined the pirate's gray face turning even grayer with fear. "And then you, our highly civilized Vulcan, offer to protect him from the barbaric humans if he'll only cooperate."

"You are enjoying this," T'Pol accused.

"I'll enjoy getting Trip back," he retorted.

"If anything, _I_ should play the 'bad cop'."

"What?" He rubbed his ears to make sure he'd heard correctly. " _You?"_

"It would be more suitable." She looked up at him with that cool, stern look that had irritated him so much when she'd first come aboard.

"What – you don't think I could be scary?" The half-joking question slipped out before he could stop it.

"I do not doubt you could." Was she being sarcastic? "But when the Retellians first met us, you were their gracious host and I was a neutral observer. It would suit their perception of us better if we continued that dynamic."

"Hmm, that does make sense. But you shouldn't have to … "

Catching her eye, he swallowed the protest he was about to make. He had the absurd wish to protect her from having to play a role that was so unlike her, but he should know her better by now. If she wanted to do this, she would. Besides, she _did_ have a talent for acting. She'd tricked those Ferengi pirates very neatly last year by pretending to be a courtesan.

"Should I wear my formal robes, do you think?" she asked casually, as if referring to a change of clothes for a dinner party.

He remembered. She had worn them the first time he'd set eyes on her, blending in flawlessly with Soval's entourage until her voice demanded his attention. Cold. Haughty. Alien. So different from the way he saw her now.

"Definitely," said Jon. "Go full Vulcan High Command. You'll scare the socks off him."

This time, the delicate arch of her eyebrow was almost like a smile.

"Under the circumstances, Captain, I will take that as a compliment."

"You're enjoying this too, aren't you?" he said, smirking.

"I am merely prepared to do whatever necessary to retrieve Princess Kaitaama and Commander Tucker."

"Whatever you say, my lady."

He folded himself into a deep, dramatic bow. When he came up, he saw her staring at him in a speculative manner.

"We should include that," she said.

"Good idea. Just remember who's the captain around here, Subcommander."

"Of course."

She brushed smoothly past him to precede him down the corridor.

/

"And here she comes now," said Jon, keeping a straight face with such effort of will that it would have done credit even to a Vulcan.

Plinn, sitting on a cold metal chair in a shadowy room, was practically shaking in his boots. Jon got up, and elbowed him to do the same. If he weren't a thief and a kidnapper, Jon could almost feel sorry for the man.

Then T'Pol glided in, and Jon almost forgot the Retellian's existence.

 _Sunlight,_ was his first thought. Gold silk. Orange linen. Even in the dimly lit room, ripples of cloth caught the light and glittered as she moved. Soft rustles accompanied each step. How many layers of fabric were in there, anyway? And if he touched her, just one corner of her long belled sleeves, would it feel as smooth and slippery as it looked?

It was ridiculous, he thought dizzily, for her robes to have this effect. They covered her from neck to ankle – more so, in fact, than her regular uniform. But maybe that was the idea, to let the viewer's imagination do its work. She meant to look mysterious, after all. Mystery frightened people.

Too bad it had the opposite effect on Jon.

As for her face … once he dared to look into her eyes, he found them remote as a star's. This plan was definitely going to work. She was terrifying.

 _But, my God, she's beautiful._

When Jon bowed this time, it was mostly to hide his face.

T'Pol began prowling around Plinn like a tigress sizing up her prey. She took notes on her padd, asked him about his culture's postmortem rituals – that macabre little detail was a touch of genius - and coldly shot Jon down, just as he meant for her to do, when he tried to be the "good cop".

But he hadn't expected her to stand so close, her head tilted up, the hem of her robe nearly touching his shoes.

And there, for one second while Plinn wasn't looking, Jon could see his own First Officer looking out of those bright hazel eyes.

A spark of mischief jumped between them.

 _Damn, we're good._


End file.
